“What did you do?” asked Petra.
“I told her to get out. I yelled at her to get out and leave me alone, and she did. But she was not—”
Not like this guy. He didn’t say it, but they both heard it. Rubio was twice Petra’s weight. He was big and strong, a product of Rio’s streets. He knew how to fight. He’d have no problem defending himself, even against another guy. But Petra... He tried not to let his thoughts show in his expression. He probably didn’t succeed.
“Will be okay,” he said again, as if saying it enough times might make it true.
“What if it’s not okay?” Her voice broke on the last word and she started to cry. She was so strong, always, so assured, but now she was cheeping and chirping like an injured bird. He made sympathetic sounds and stroked her hair. He didn’t know what to do, how to fix this. He really wanted to kiss her. He wished he could kiss her until she felt better, until that haunted look left her eyes.
He touched the sides of her hair, brushed his fingers over the soft, sweet-smelling strands. “He is very bad,” he said. “I know he’s so bad, but I can understand why he feels so strong for you. You’re so beautiful, Petra. I’m sorry you’re sad.”
She turned her face up to his, her cheeks streaked with tears. “I’m so tired,” she sobbed. “I’m tired of worrying about this.”
“I know, querida.”
“It’s so stupid. It’s not fair. I mean, that he wants me, and I don’t want him.” She buried her face in his chest. “And I want you, but I can’t…”
“You can’t what?”
She pulled away from him and smeared tears across her cheek. “Forget I said that. I’m really emotional right now. I want everything I can’t have.”
He stared at the curve of her cheek, the pretty pouting shape of her mouth. “You can have me,” he said. “If that’s what you want.” She shook her head, trying to pull away from him, but he wouldn’t let her go. “Petra—”
“We can’t, Ruby. Just—please—”
“You can have me,” he said again, taking her face in his hands. “I’m right here, damn you. If you want me, why don’t you take me? Nothing bad will happen. I don’t understand.”
“Really?” She looked up at him, her expression racked with torment. “You don’t understand? Of all people, you should understand. My entire life has been driven by dance. Every decision, every relationship has been weighed against how it will affect my career. How you’ll affect my career.”
“And?” he asked in frustration. “I’m your partner. I try to help you be your best.”
“I know, but I’ve created this structured life. There’s only room for me and dance in it. I’m afraid to upset the balance, you know?”
Yes. In some way he did know. Their dedication to their craft consumed everything, leaving room for little else. No hobbies, no leisure, no relationships, no peace except for Saturday nights at Liam’s, and thanks to Petra he couldn’t even enjoy that any more. “I know,” he said, pressing his lips to her forehead. “Is lonely to live like this.”
Petra covered her face and started crying again. He held her against his chest, twining his fingers in her hair. He was lost without her, and she was lost without him. “Don’t you think...” He nuzzled against her cheek, tasting tears. “Don’t you think we have to find a way? If you want this so much, if your feelings are so strong...” He eased her back and cupped her chin, brushing away her tears with his thumbs. “Listen, we both understand what’s at stake. We’re both at a time in our lives when our careers must come first. We understand that, yes?”
He waited for her to stop crying and answer. “Yes, but—”
“So we know. We can be careful. I won’t make a baby in you, I promise. I won’t let you stop dance, no matter what. You won’t be your mother and I won’t be your father, we’ll promise each other this. We can do it. We know better.”
She gazed at him through misty green eyes, considering what he’d said. “I—I don’t know.”
He made a soft sound, tracing the bare skin above her waistband. “Do you want me? Tell the truth.”
She shuddered against him. “Of course I want you.”
He moved his hand lower, over her form-fitting leggings to the smooth vee at the top of her thighs. “We have so little besides dance. Why can’t we enjoy each other? Give one another pleasure?” He moved a couple fingers beneath her waistband and when she didn’t stop him, he slid his whole hand in, down to the secret, slick warmth of her pussy. She sighed and pressed her head against his chest as he teased her, stroking over her clit. “It’s so lonely to be a dancer,” he said, curling his fingers into her tight sheath. “So much discipline. So much sacrifice. No one understands, but we understand each other. There is something between us, Petra.” She moved on his fingers, tensing and pressing against him. “Ah, yes, you know it. We understand each other so well.”
He caught her moan in a kiss, then pressed his tongue inside her mouth as he pushed his fingers deeper. He’d die if she didn’t let him in. She was killing him, slowly but surely.
“But you’re into BDSM,” she said against his lips. “You’re kinky and I’m not.”
“Liar.” He gave a wild laugh. “You can’t stop thinking about how good it felt when I hurt you. How good it felt when I held you down and fucked you.” He punctuated each word with a probing thrust of his fingers, his thumb against her clit, pressing and stroking it. “I could teach you everything about dominance and submission. About pain and pleasure and giving yourself up.” His fingers closed over her clit in a tightening pinch. “You want to give up control, I know it. You want to be my special toy, my lover. My sweet sex slave. Only for me.”
She ground hard against his hand and touched the front of his pants, tracing the thick evidence of his need. It was all the answer he needed. He flicked open the button of his fly, tore the zipper down and fisted his cock. “Wait,” he said. “Don’t move.”
He went to his gym bag and rooted through shoes and clothing. He came up with the box of condoms and tore one open, rolling it onto his cock at the same time he kicked off his jeans. Petra took care of his shirt, tearing it over his head. He wanted to undress her next, undress all of her and lick every inch of her body, but he found he couldn’t wait. He pulled her to the floor and stretched her leggings down somewhere below her knees.
There would be time for seduction later. Tonight, tomorrow, later. For now it was enough to grab her arms and jam his cock between her legs and slide into her inch by torturous inch. She was so tight, so wet. He tried to spread her legs wider but the leggings had her cinched below the knees. They arched together, fucking like animals. Later, he could seduce. For now, he wanted ownership. Possession. He wanted her to understand that she was his. He held her hands to the floor and pounded into her, moving her hips with the force of his thrusts. She pressed against him, bucking her pelvis.
“Oh God,” she moaned. “You’re hitting…just…the right…spot.”
“Don’t come yet,” he bit out. “Wait.”
She made a plaintive sound of protest.
“Not yet,” he repeated. “Wait for me.”
He could feel her legs straining at the leggings. Spandex made nice bondage. He kissed her hard, snapping his hips against hers. He could go off like a rocket any time, but this reconnection was so exciting, so pure and wonderful, that he didn’t want it to end too quickly.
“Soon,” he said, as her nails bit into his hands. “Be patient. If you’re mine, you do what I like. You come when I say.”
> “Please,” she gasped. “I can’t hold off much longer.”
He only made her wait another minute, although she groaned like he was subjecting her to torture. “Okay, now,” he said, tightening his grip on her wrists. “Now you come. We come together.”
They were already so in tune physically. He knew her body, every muscle and tendon. He knew her scent and how she breathed and how she moved. When he heard her gasp and clench around him he was ready, his body resonating on the same frequency as hers. It was like a well-executed arabesque, everything in balance, elegant and beautiful. His orgasm felt better than any applause, better than any performance, because it arrived in perfect concert with hers.
“Oh, you fucking...you fucking...” He clamped his lips shut before he blurted out something rude. He couldn’t believe she’d kept this joy from him for so long. He couldn’t believe the time they’d wasted. “You fucking bad girl,” he whispered, gazing down into her sex-dazed eyes. “You made me ache. You made me suffer.”
She squeezed on the still-hard length of his cock and gave him a weak smile. “I’m sorry.”
“You are not sorry,” he chuckled, pulling out of her. “Not yet, anyway.”
He went to the bathroom to take off the condom while she stewed on those words. By the time he got back, she’d already pulled up her leggings.
“Oh, no,” he said. “No, no, no.”
He marched her over to the couch and threw her across his knee before she knew what he intended. He took a moment to yank her leggings back down as she squirmed over his lap. The smack of his hand sounded loud in her apartment. “Ouch,” she yelled, throwing her arm back to shield her ass.
“Rule one of BDSM...” He took her wrist and trapped it firmly between her shoulder blades. “Bad girls get spanked. That’s my rule, anyway.”
Smack!
He wasn’t hitting her full strength, but he wasn’t pussy-footing around either. He gave her another smart slap, and a couple more just under the curve of her buttocks. She half-laughed and half-screeched, trying to jerk away. This would get her nice and primed for round two of fucking, and he’d make sure that lasted longer. So many things to teach her. So many perverted things to do to her...